The Phantom Of Hogwarts
by BroadwayHoney
Summary: Lily and James romance, with a twist! Lily is related to Erik, the Opera Ghost of a hundred years ago. Now he haunts her life, trying despratly to explain something she can't understand. Until...
1. Prologue

Prologue

"Fashion is a from of ugliness so unbearable we have to change it every three months."

-Oscar Wilde

It's very hard for us to think that Lily Evans Potter and James Potter were anything but happy during their life together. Even for us fanfiction writers - difficulty in their relationship is hard to imagine. We try to write it the way it was (and I myself have done it before), and include trivial, common trails and tribulations. Affairs, maybe…secrets…a polar difference in James having to change his personality (as mostly everyone assumes he was a player), Lily having to do so as well. No longer being able to be the line-toeing, goody-two-shoes we all want and believe her to be.

Then, there's the other half of fanfiction. Where James (of course) is a virgin, and only puts up the unanimously assumed player role to gain popularity. Where Lily is a hard-ass bad girl. These kind of stories often include wild sex, (well, the ones I read smiles wild sex isn't all bad), drugs, and heavy drinking.

Also included in the mix is where Lily and/or James are "special among special." Mages…I distinctly remember one dealing with Avalon (a very good one…). Anything to do with ancient, wandless magic.

But what if we were wrong? What if we're all just blatantly naïve to the reality JKR is underlying in her stories? What if we just skip over that. Just because we don't want to imagine it that way? _Why_ does it have to be one extreme or the other?

Why? Because that's the way life is now-a-days. That's the way televisions, radio's, and newfound movies portray life. Fact is: that's not the way life is. Life isn't black and white. There's a _very_ large gray area. We just like to skip over that, because that's a artificial color our eyes aren't used to.

But my name is Laura Johnson.

And _this _is the real story.

You see, Lilian Marie Christine Evans - or "Lily" as she liked to be called - was neither a toe-lining-goody-two-shoes, nor a hard-ass bad girl. In fact, she was just like almost every other girl in the world. Stuck somewhere in that damn gray area.

But - it was _all _about to change.

James Phillipe Potter was a usual eleven-year-old boy. With, of course, the excepting fact that he was a wizard. Then again, James _was _strange.

Guys and as James's friends would soon be, have a two-track mind. Care to take a guess?

Yep.

Track one - sports.

Track two - sex.

Period.

But, as I just stated, James was weird.

He really didn't like to see anybody in trouble at all. It didn't matter whether he hated them or not. If there was trouble - in any form, but especially the one I'm about to state - he was fixing it. However, if the major, most important rule of all was violated, James would be the one to cause all the damn trouble.

After all, it was cowardly to hit a woman.

Alright, maybe it was a little outdated, but he sincerely believed that men were created to protect the, "gentle sex." However, more of that will be explained later.

The other thing was that he was attracted by the unusual and different. Maybe that was one of the reasons he followed "Paganism", as it is ruthlessly called by prim and proper Christians. Maybe that was also why he was so damn fascinated with the non-magical world.

((($)))

So, take a look at them. Both "misfits." Both wishing that they could just find one damn person that could understand them. And both going through one of the toughest ages around.

This, Monsieurs and Mam'selles, is the true story of Lily and James.

Sorry for the slight delay in posting. I couldn't get on the computer yesterday.

_**PLEASE GO READ MY AUTHORS PAGE ON REVIEW ETIQUETTE BEFORE YOU REVIEW!**_

"You must review with enthusiasm to satisfy an author's insatiable vanity"

BroadwayHoney


	2. Chapter OneThe Mistake

Chapter One…The Mistake

"One thing, one mistake…can alter the entire course of events that happens afterward."

-CSI: New York

It's true, you know. One small event can change your entire being. One thing, can alter your life forever.

The other thing about those pesky moments, is that they always seem to come as soon as you think you have everything under control. And they always make things take a turn for the worse.

At least, that's what it was like for me.

Yeah…I got my Hogwarts acceptance letter.

It wasn't a bad thing in total. I enjoyed being a witch. I enjoyed being different…well, more so than usual. I just didn't like the course of events that happened after. Events, that I truly believed were…_are_ my fault.

See, my family was happy…as happy as we could be. Happy in a divided way, I suppose. An outside comedy show could have made us into the perfect joke. Mother and firstborn, fighting father and baby.

Dad was happy for me when I got my letter. In a quiet sort of way. None of his usual, "Flower that's great let's go get ice cream," sort of way. It made me nervous. His face paled, and he looked as if his worst fears had been confirmed, and were sitting right in front of him. But happy none-the-less. However contradictory a statement that may be. He was Indeed happy that his baby would finally get some of the spotlight she was never entitled to before.

Most of it, as you can probably well guess, was taken up by his first-born daughter, Petunia. Petunia and I were as different as night and day. She was tall and slightly overweight, I was short and slightly underweight. She had blonde hair, mine shimmered a bright copper red that someday promised to be a deep auburn. Her eyes shone an ocean blue, and mine were a dark emerald green. She excelled in every subject imaginable and I…well, I didn't.

I had one area of expertise. Music. That was all I really knew. The rest I didn't exactly pay attention to (excepting languages. English, Spanish, Latin - I had to understand them to understand the elite operas), as it didn't interest me. I was slightly intrigued by fine architecture, but lacked the patience to learn the boring and non-sensical terminology. I decided early on I'd much rather admire it from afar.

But Petunia? Oh, no. She was the County Spelling-Bee Champion four years and running. She wrote the most creative story in her writing class. She achieved the highest score on her math quiz every week. And she won the science fair every year.

Dad didn't care for Petunia too much. I'm not sure if I'll ever know for positive why. Perhaps it was because of her quick labor, that Mother went through too fast for him to see. Maybe it was because he had no say in naming the girl. Maybe it was because she was so much like her grandmother. Or maybe he just plain out liked me better. Because I was my own person, and took after no one.

Although, I wasn't exactly a pretty face. Perhaps it was just because of my age, but I had no curves - flat and bony everywhere. Most girls start shaving their legs in their sixth year of schooling. Me? Oh, no. I don't think I even _grew_ hair on my legs in sixth year.

Breakfast that day was different. It was quiet. Usually it was our time to talk…well, more precisely to plan a prank on my sister. That, or plan our trip around the city for the day. Generally, no matter how much we, "planned," them, they always seemed to be so spontaneous, taking a cab ride all the way across the city just to see the next thing, then taking another ride back the opposite way. Fun.

But not that morning. That morning he was pale, didn't speak a word, and sure as Hell didn't plan pranks on my sister. It made me nervous. I wanted my real Dad back. When I asked him what was wrong, all he would say was, "Nothing, my little flower. Nothing at all." In a vacant, strange voice. Then he got up and walked into his study.

Petunia came at me then, throwing a letter in my face. Snapping something at me I've chosen to forget. I turned it over in my hands, ignoring the scribbly address scrawled in green ink. I looked at the paper. Parchment. Who used parchment now-a-days? I adjusted my favorite green skirt (the one with the felt lily in the corner), and studied the seal. It bore an elaborate "H" surrounded by four animals, but the size of them coupled with my poor vision prevented me from seeing what they were.

Being careful not to break the seal, I opened the letter. It took me at least six times reading it over for the message to sink in.

_I was a witch_

xXxXxXx

She was coming.

Something in the bottom of my soul told me that the girl I'd been waiting for for eighty-five years was coming.

Soon.

I picked up my cane and hobbled over to the back room to prepare everything.

xXxXxXx

I ran into Daddy's study to talk to him. I showed him the letter and told him what I thought it meant. But all he said was:

"Very nice, my flower. Very nice."

Dad had never spoken to me like that before.

((AmImIsSiNgSoMeThInG))

Later that night I sat in my room, up against the doorframe, swathed in nothing but my hunter green night dress and the tears pouring down my face. Mother and Daddy were arguing in their bedroom. Well, what it sounded more like was Mother yelling and Daddy muttering now and then. Still…I could tell it wasn't good.

"How could you let this happen, Jack!"

Murmuring.

"No! She's a freak! At least I still have _one_ normal daughter! We made that decision early, Jack. That we'd raise them right. I've kept up my part of the deal. But look what you did."

More frantic muttering.

"No," Mother said in a deadly voice, "No, my mother was right about you. I should have never married such a rogue. I should have married a proper blue-blood Frenchman, just like she wanted me to. Then I'd have proper blue-blood French daughters and sons and a proper _life_."

I heard the door to their room slam shut. The front door opened, then closed. And moments later, Mother's tiny car sped away.

I ran into Dad's apartment. He was slouched up against the wall, holding his left arm tightly. He began to speak to me in agonizingly slow French. Not like him at all. He used to tell me, "Practice French at school, practice English at home." Which, of course, was exactly what Mother _didn't_ want. So I often ended up speaking French around Mother and English around Dad…and nothing around them both. I didn't even know he spoke French. I strove to understand his hoarse voice.

"I'm proud…of you…my…my Lily Flower…I truly am." He coughed violently, "I love you, sweetheart."

Then he groaned, and slouched some more.

I can't really remember what I did. I think I screamed, but it could have been Petunia. I vaguely remember shaking him violently…but nothing else.

As if to add to the pain of Dad dying…Mother killed herself that night. When the police arrived at the house (I don't know how they got there. I think a neighbor heard the scream and called), we gave them the license plate number to Mother's car. In a matter of moments, they had tracked her movements to a nearby hotel, where they immediately went to see her.

They found her hanging in the shower with her throat and wrists slashed, an empty bottle of Asprin toppled over on the bedside.

Petunia, naturally, blamed her death on me. She told me that if I hadn't ever gotten that letter, Mother would still be alive. _Daddy too_, I thought silently.

You know what?

She was right.

((AmImIsSiNgSoMeThInG))

I apologize for this being a few days late. I just pick random dates for my posting dates, and I didn't realize it coincided with band camp, which takes a lot out of you. I hope it lived up to your expectations.

Chapter Two is being written and does not currently have a title.

I warn you…I will be picking another random date for my next posting date, and I may be a little late. I am thinking sometime early August. Reasons for this may be any of the following: Warped Tour, the start of school, me going to a NEW school, colorguard, band rehearsal, and drama.

I apologize for the shortness of my chapters. I'm trying to make them long…but I don't want to go too far into the story. I'm trying to make them longer, and I hope the next one is so.

I did receive one review of consequence from a friend of mine. She remarked to the Prologue of being very "I'm right, you're wrong" and too explanatory. The "I'm right," instances were put there on purpose, but if you too believe that the style is too explanatory and not enough story-telling, please leave a review saying so.

I did also get a review that simply said, "The Phantom of the Opera is there…inside my mind.", because of which, I must repeat myself. The note is listed in caps, bold, italicized, and underlined print directly underneath this paragraph. Yes, this person did leave the review anonymously, and has therefore been deleted.

_**PLEASE GO TO MY AUTHORS PAGE AND REVIEW WRITING ETTIQUITE BEFORE YOU REVIEW!**_

By the way, if you're wondering why this is being posted around 2:30 in the morning (because of that please forgive any grammatical errors), it's because I'm a chronic insomniac and have moderate anxiety. Trust me, they coincide and may effect material in the stories.

"You must review with enthusiasm to satisfy an author's insatiable vanity."

-BroadwayHoney-


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